Bulma's Cold Misfortune
by Butane Baby
Summary: Assuming she would do just fine without them, Bulma Brief, the grande dame of strong, independent women, was finally taking a break from most of her family for an entire month. Then her little girl sneezed. How would she prevent her traveling husband from worrying about the chaos ahead? (Story revised June 2019)
1. Superstition

Bulma Brief had an event-filled week ahead of her, starting with a charity ball to raise money for training programs to help workers who had lost their jobs learn new, marketable skills. She was the doyenne of the technological world on Earth, and her leadership inspired her contemporaries, most of whom were quite wealthy, to contribute. As long as Earth had a monetary-based system, they had a responsibility to give to others, she felt. Bulma had been thinking, too, about how different the world would be without money. Whenever she pondered these thoughts, her husband Vegeta, the erstwhile alien prince and cynical pragmatist, called her "a limousine socialist." Then, having stoked her outrage, he would mischievously ask how his wife could be comfortable without buying at least twelve pairs of shoes weekly. After regaining her self-control, Bulma realized they were long overdue for an extended "discussion" of what socialism meant. It seemed to be Vegeta's catch-all phrase for other planetary societies he encountered during his youth that were - god forbid - harmonious. Horrors!

But that chat was for another day, and Vegeta had left Earth for a month to train on a remote planet with enough plant life to feed three ants - and maybe a sand flea. Bulma capsulized at least a year's worth of food for him; although strangely enough before he left, the Saiyan prince casually mentioned his desire to change his diet and caloric intake. At first Bulma stared as if tentacles sprouted from Vegeta's nose. That, too, would be another spousal chat on her to-do list.

Bulma was, dare she say it, _happy_ that her husband was gone for a while. She suggested two months, actually, which Vegeta suspiciously and irritably rejected. She wanted to shake-up their routine of being around each other so much since their daughter's birth. Bulla was now four-years-old and wasn't much trouble to anyone at all, so it was time for a change. Secretly, Bulma also liked the idea of Vegeta returning from his jaunt ravenous and aching for sex. The anticipation of _that_ joyful, raunchy reunion made her shiver.

Vegeta looked as handsome as ever the day he departed, and the vain little bastard knew it. Bulma had a new all-black training suit designed for him that looked as regal and elegant on him as it felt. She expected an appreciative grunt - or two - to acknowledge her good work, but this time Vegeta kissed her forehead and smiled just enough to make Bulma feel like she had saved the universe. After handing her his wedding ring, he returned to dressing with no words spoken between them. Then he slowly slipped on his white gloves, one tasty finger at a time. Oh the places where those fingers had been on her body!

He was such an unrepentant tease - and he was all hers.

Fatherhood had matured Vegeta over the years, especially after having their second child. His protectiveness of their family, already well-pronounced, had increased exponentially. He may not have verbalized it well, but they all knew that his care for their well-being was boundless. He still fumbled with smaller things, like making the occasional meal from scratch when Bulma and the kids really, really wanted him to, or barely gagging when the youngest threw up something unpleasant. But he and his wife managed to share most child-rearing duties relatively well in spite of their hard-charging ways.

Bulma lay in bed leisurely watching him dress. He glanced at his wedding ring on the nightstand again and turned to look at her. "Are you sure you'll be fine here alone with Echalotte without Trunks, your parents, or me?"

"Vegeta, you act like I can't call up an armada to help me with anything I need, whenever I need it. Bulla and I will be fine. What could possibly go wrong?"

After all their years together, Bulma should've known better than give her husband _any_ reason to question her judgment about their family's welfare. Clearly, this wasn't the answer the Saiyan prince wanted or needed to hear.

"Why are you courting disaster by saying that?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Now I wonder if I should stay."

"Vegeta, this isn't the time for sentimental superstition," Bulma replied impatiently. "Sometimes you act like you're the only who's had adventures in life. Be glad that I skipped work this morning to watch you prepare for this trip - in all of your sexiness and hot-tempered glory."

He frowned disapprovingly, causing Bulma to feel a tad guilty. "Woman, I wouldn't necessarily describe the first quarter of my hellish existence before we met and married as an 'adventure' - in case you forgot."

"I haven't forgotten," Bulma grasped his ring finger to apologize. "I didn't mean to make light of that." Her hand traveled down his leg, stroking it seductively.

Vegeta closed his eyes, shaking his head at her blatantly shameless attempt to appease him. He crawled on top of her, slipping his hand underneath her back to kiss again. "You can stay deliciously naked and horny under those sheets all you want, but I'll be damned if I'm removing my clothes. I look way too good in them."

Bulma slammed a pillow into his face to punish him. "Leave this room now, prince big mouth."

"Now that's more like it." Vegeta took one final look at her and left without saying goodbye. He never did. Over time, Bulma realized that her husband departed this way to assure everyone he cared about that he expected to return.

Bulma's charity gala later that evening went off without a hitch. Her name was emblazoned on the West City Tribune's society page the next day, of course, with its customary compliments from guests. Unfortunately, a so-called "news blogger" published a speculative, borderline-trashy story discussing "reasons" why her husband hadn't attended, although anyone worth knowing in the city knew that her somber-faced, rarely seen husband was nowhere near the sociable type. One day Bulma overheard one of her employees say Vegeta had a bad case of "resting bitch face." The worker nearly pissed in his pants when she casually tapped his shoulder and asked him to explain in painful detail what he meant. Indeed, the hapless worker was correct in his evaluation of Vegeta's normal facial expression. Bulma still fired the guy out of principle - after all, the imbecile mocked her husband - for being stupid enough discuss the subject at work.

Bulma had planned to arrive early at the office the next day, which she did. Her assistant Nick, however, had arrived earlier. That brought a satisfied smile to her face. The young man's loyalty and ambition would be rewarded in the hefty salary increase planned for him at the end of the year.

"Good morning, Dr. Brief," he said, following Bulma into her office. He handed her a cup of coffee and a plate of her favorite shortbread cookies. "Shall we begin? Actually, wait. Where is your little one? I thought she would be here today."

"Bulla is here, Nick!" Bulma said happily, taking a bite of her cookie. "She's in the office daycare over at the next building. I'll bring her over to see you this afternoon. And thank you for the cookies. I rarely eat sweets in the morning when my husband is around. He insists that I eat a 'balanced breakfast' with nuts and berries and, possibly, tree branches to maintain a healthy colon."

Nick laughed softly. "Wonderful. Your secret is safe with me, Dr. Brief, but perhaps Vegeta is right about taking good care of yourself, especially with him away."

Bulma reclined comfortably in her chair. "Trust me, sugar, once he gets far enough away in space, my colon will be the last thing on his mind."

She also told Vegeta not to contact her too much, even though it would be next to impossible for him to track her _ki_ signature from his location. He needed to focus on his goals this month so she could focus on hers. However, he wasn't barred from speaking with their son Trunks, who under threat of merciless torture had been expected to divulge all details about Bulma's activities - even if his mother asked him not to.

It was summertime, and Bulma had stacked a plume of her thick lavender hair on top of her head. She gave Bulla the same hairstyle so they could avoid sweating all over themselves. They almost looked like twins, and both liked the attention they received when Bulma checked on her daughter, who sat under a tree on the playground. Bulla smiled but appeared more lethargic than from earlier that day. Her mother blamed the heat, deciding to carry the child back into the air-conditioned playroom for some water.

"Dr. Brief, is everything okay with Bulla?" the nursery director asked. "She didn't eat everything in sight today, like she normally does, but I suppose everyone around West City is a little off-balance because of the weather changes."

"Yeah, Leslie, I think you're right," Bulma said, eyeing her daughter's position in her arms. "Let's get you on a cot for nap-time with the other kids, sweetheart. I'll be back later."

"Okay, mommy," Bulla said sleepily. Bulma nuzzled her chin in the child's hair. The act was intentional. Vegeta usually did this with their daughter, and Bulma figured it might provide comfort in her daddy's absence.

She caressed Bulla's hair for few minutes before putting her down. "You miss him already, don't you? Is that why you're so quiet today?"

"I am fine, mommy," the girl said calmly. "You can go." Bulma smiled knowingly as she accepted her fate. Her second child with the Saiyan prince was destined to be _just like him_ , perhaps even more so than their first born.

Unexpectedly, as her mother laid her down on the cot, Bulla lifted her head and sneezed. Then, after rubbing her eyes, she sneezed again, this time covering her nose with her hands.

"My goodness! Bless you twice, baby girl."

"Thank you, mommy," Bulla replied, nodding at her. "Bye."

Bulma put on her lab coat and washed her hands. "Leslie, I'll be back at six or earlier to get her, okay? It's fine to give her a couple snacks before I return."

"Sure, Dr. Brief."

* * *

Four o'clock came much faster than Bulma expected. She wanted to work longer, actually, but for some reason she thought that retrieving Bulla earlier would be better. Her eyes observed different parts of the office and its minimalist décor, which helped restore concentration. On both sides of the entrance hung multicolored electron-microscope images of the common cold and flu viruses. She and Nick thought they accentuated the white walls nicely. Vegeta hated them.

"They're hideous, Bulma,"he said after seeing them."It's like you're welcoming these vile illnesses into your life. We are fortunate not to have been plagued by these particular ones since our children were born - especially you, as a human. Why can't you continue to enjoy being the freak of nature that you are? This is bad luck."

She laughed to herself and gathered her belongings. She was a scientist. She saw artistic accents in many ways that others wouldn't. With that she decided to continue reviewing new Capsule Corporation product designs at home, after dining with her little girl.

Hearing Bulma's rustling, Nick re-entered to review the next day's schedule with her. "I see you're leaving on time."

"Very funny," Bulma replied, taking the list from him. "You should go home now too, and save any leftover work you have for tomorrow. I won't give you any trouble about it."

"Somehow I don't believe you," Nick said skeptically. "Have a good evening, and please try eating more than cookies for dinner tonight while you're working late."

"Look, I already have one bossy husband, fella," Bulma said. Feeling playful, she paced around Nick as if she were inspecting a tasty piece of cake. "You are too young to be my side-piece."

Nick lightly smacked her hands with the stack of papers under his shoulder. "I'm sure my new husband would be happy to know that you have enough self-restraint to resist your carnal impulses, Bulma. He is rather protective of me - and trust me, his temper would likely match Vegeta's."

"I can't agree with you there, buddy!" Bulma said with utmost confidence. "Now leave before I create extra work for you tonight, and tell Charles hello for me. I'm still waiting for you two to sit for that wedding portrait I commissioned. The artist is ready when you are."

"Let me escort you to the nursery at least," Nick said. "I want to see little Echalotte. You were too busy to bring her earlier."

"Lord." Bulma stopped in front of him. "Only Vegeta calls Bulla by her middle name exclusively. What's possessed you?"

"I loved the name when you first told me," Nick said. "It's so unique and beautiful."

"Well, be sure not to call her that around my husband," Bulma replied as she entered the nursery. "I'm not explaining why."

Nick lowered his wire-framed glasses and winked. "You don't have to explain."

Bulma got pulled into a conversation by the door as soon as they entered the nursery, so Nick walked over quickly to greet her little girl.

"Hello, lady!"

Bulla, who sat on the side of her cot, smiled weakly. "Hi, Nick." Her reserved response surprised him since they both adored each other. Bulma stayed busy talking with other parents, so he decided to examine the child closer. She had been rubbing her nose, and her normally vibrant skin tone appeared flushed. Her eyes were rheumy and red, too.

"Bulla, darling, what is -" Before he could get another word out, the child sneezed multiple times, which she tried to stifle as quietly as possible.

 _Uh oh._ He pulled a wad of tissues from his pocket, handing them to her. "Are you not feeling well?"

"I am fine, Nick," Bulla said resolutely. "Is mommy taking me home now? I thought we would leave later. When she was down here after lunch, I heard her tell you on the phone about working a lot today. I don't want to get in the way."

 _This child is trying to protect her mother,_ Nick deduced. She likely felt unwell before leaving home that morning. Worse, he knew Bulma would be upset for missing signs. But he wasn't completely shocked she was unaware. If the kid was anything like Vegeta, stubborn stoicism was genetically hired-wired into her.

He handed Bulla an apple juice box and smiled. "Your mother would _never_ say or believe you're in the way. Not ever. Now drink this, and we'll be right back." He made eye contact with Bulma, who immediately stopped talking to approach them.

Nick locked arms with her, pulling her aside. Worried, Bulma's eyes darted over his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"It seems Bulla is coming down with a cold or something close enough to it," he whispered. "She refuses to say she doesn't feel well, and I think she's trying not to worry you. She mentioned work and that she didn't want to get in your way."

"Oh, no." Bulma suddenly felt hurt and confused. "How could my baby possibly think that? She's been ill before, although not like this, and she's always my first priority when that happens."

"It's probably because Vegeta is gone, honey," Nick said, trying to reassure her. "She's older now. Kids see stuff happening in their parents' relationships that they may not fully understand. One minute you believe they aren't paying attention, and the next they're telling your nosy neighbors about an argument you had with your spouse over who burned the toast."

"I guess so." Bulma sighed. "Maybe she thinks my insistence that Vegeta leave for a while somehow means he's in my way too. Her brother and grandparents being away doesn't help either."

"Right now let's just get her home," Nick said, turning to watch Bulla. She was lying on her cot, now wiping her nose and sniffling pitifully. "I'll go with you, Bulma. The last thing your intense mind needs tonight is a boatload of misplaced maternal guilt. Shit happens. That's all this is."

* * *

 **Hello! Thank you for reading. Please take a moment and leave a comment if the spirit moves you.**


	2. Everything Is Fine

Bulma and Nick kicked off their shoes as soon as they entered the estate. She handed her daughter to him to carry upstairs while she put on her slippers and headed to the kitchen. She programmed the robotic pantry system before arriving to have hot chicken broth ready for Bulla. Then she searched for Vegeta's hidden stash of frozen-juice Popsicles, because she knew a sore throat would come next. The child remained silent about her symptoms, but all the signs were there. Bulla also had a fever, which they quickly determined before leaving daycare.

Bulma stopped for a minute, taking a deep breath. Having a child sick with a cold never had been the end of the world. Rather, she didn't want her highly intelligent, well-spoken toddler to adopt the concerns of the adults charged with caring for her. As Bulma continued gathering supplies, a prerecorded voice roared at an ear-splitting level from her phone, almost causing her to drop everything.

"Hey, mom! Check your messages! Check, check, check!"

Bulma had no warning that her son programmed her phone to give her a heart attack. _I am going to strangle that boy! He certainly wouldn't do this to Vegeta's phone!_ Disoriented, she stumbled to the counter to activate a hologram message he left. _How do I change this fucking notification back to normal?_

Dressed in khaki hiking gear, Trunks looked utterly satisfied, at least at first, increasing Bulma's desire to throw him off a cliff. His 3-D image paced in front of her. "Hey, look, I want you to know that the prince of darkness threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't spy on you and crown princess oozaru while he's away. Dad says grandma and grandpa are clueless. I want to enjoy summer camp, you know, so let's make a deal. Don't say anything when I contact you that would be remotely concerning to dad _unless_ it's a dire emergency."

 _Are most teenagers this self-centered?_ Bulma wondered. Then she recalled her behavior at Trunks' age. _That would be a yes._

He finally looked up. "In other words, when we talk, don't give me any reason to lie or leave out key facts, because dad will know and you will have handed my ass to him on a platter. He's already grumpy about camp since your old boyfriend Yamcha runs this operation, but I like showing the younger kids here how to do stuff. I don't have to use my powers, really, and it's fun. Anyway, leave me a message, or whatever. I love you much."

She texted him back: "Boy, so help me, if you touch my phone's controls ever again, I'll have your dad bury your narrow ass alive in a place where no one will hear your miserable screams! He's waited patiently since you hit puberty, and I'm not sure if I can restrain him much longer. And, yes, I accept your terms for our future conversations. Love you much, Mom."

Bulma rubbed her aching temples. Trunks was right, in his own annoying way. The less Vegeta knew the better. The prince's periodic absences to train or compete in high-stakes tournaments had long been routine and would likely continue. However, unlike the past, Vegeta experienced more anxiety about his departures. Life had been good to their family and friends just long enough to feel uncomfortable. Bulma struggled at times to keep him from ruminating himself into angst. They had more emotional work to do there. Right then she felt it was okay to cut her losses. Her husband needed this separation, even if they argued later.

"I gave the Bulla Tylenol for the fever," Nick said, entering the kitchen. "She looks absolutely pitiful. Take what you have up there now, and I'll putter around here until you return."

Bulla patted him on the shoulder. "Thank you for everything. I so appreciate this, but don't feel obligated to stay. You have someone waiting for you at home too."

Lowering his head, Nick approached the hand-washing sink next to the freezer. "Dr. Brief, you're a good person. Plus, I always have liked children. Charles already knows I'll be late, too."

"Okay then," Bulma said, picking up her daughter's food tray. "Make yourself home to whatever's left to eat here. There's not as much left, and I haven't ordered more groceries yet."

Nick's eyes widened as he inspected the space. "You and I must see two different kitchens." The Briefs had enough to feed three planets. Then he wondered how much food had been capsulized.

Bulma smiled with a touch of awkwardness. Sometimes she forgot that however normal her family appeared to her, their outside appearance and behaviors could seem abnormal to others.

Her heart ached seeing Bulla laying on the bed with her back to the nightstand. The lamp was on, and the little girl held a stuffed bear Trunks had given to her. Bulma turned on the humidifier, knowing that it would relieve her baby's congestion later on. "Sweetie, let's get you into your pajamas, and I want you to drink this broth. How are you doing?"

"I'm just tired." Bulla said. Her eyes were glassy, and she opened and closed them slowly. "I took the pill Nick gave me, but only because he asked. I didn't want to."

"Mmm, you're just tired? If you say so, but you're staying home until you're less tired and _sick_."

Bulla's eyes flashed angrily. "Mommy, I'll _be_ fine."

"Okay, okay." Bulma placed the tray over her daughter's legs. "I believe you. Right now, young lady, drink as much of this broth as you can. I will come back later to check your temperature."

" _Hn._ " Bulla crossed her arms, scowling. "Fine."

"Kid, that doesn't work with me," Bulma said, withholding laughter. "You learned it from your dad, and I've been around him longer than you. And just so we're clear, Vegeta would be highly upset if you weren't cared for properly so you could feel better."

Bulla wiped her nose and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, mommy." Her eyes filled with tears, but she was determined not to cry.

"Baby, what's with the sad face?" Bulma rubbed the girl's leg to soothe her. "Does something else hurt?"

"No, I'm going to mess up your week," Bulla sniffled. "I'm sorry I got sick."

Bulma sighed, kissing her daughter's head. "Honey, that's enough. You have nothing to be sorry about. First, you messed up nothing. Second, you need to focus on getting well - now that you said what we've both known to be true. I love you."

They sat silently until Bulla finished her broth and felt drowsy again. She sneezed a few times but managed to fall into a slumber. Bulma accepted that sleeping straight through the night would be next to impossible for either of them. Nick had plates of food ready when she returned to the kitchen, along with glasses of white wine. Flickering candles illuminated the table, making for a much calmer atmosphere. Sitar music played softly in the background.

"I'll work from home tomorrow," she said. "I may not begin until around lunchtime."

Nick took a bite of steak before dabbing his chin with a napkin. "Of course, but you also need rest. Perhaps you should get some help with Bulla over the next few days, like you normally would when she's not at nursery." He sharpened his knives and cackled. "They can wear surgical masks to avoid the plague."

Bulma threw another napkin at him. "Not for the first day. Not until I know how bad this is - and stop my baby from believing she's a burden. Regardless, the board meeting preparations will continue as scheduled. And, just in case, you also should have plans to care for yourself if you catch Bulla's cold."

"Now you know me better than that," Nick said, pouring himself another glass of wine. "I already have."

* * *

"What's happening, boy?"

"What do you mean?"

Vegeta leaned back on the ship's control board with a content smirk on his face. Trunks couldn't see him, but the Saiyan prince knew his son squirmed. He purposely deactivated the video link to increase the teenager's discomfort, and his stentorian voice vibrated the speakers on each side of their call.

"Honestly, Trunks. Unlike your mother's threats, mine are _rarely_ idle - especially when it comes to you. Don't try my patience."

Trunks kicked rocks to relieve his nervousness. "Mom is fine. Really, she just appears a little tired. She's preparing for that big meeting -"

"Yes, the company board meeting."

"Yeah."

"How is Echalotte?"

"Mom says she's fine."

"Bulma _says_ your sister is fine? That's all? So that means you haven't seen Bulla when you're chatting with your mother?"

"Yeah, but it's not like mom and I talk for hours," Trunks replied, staring at the sky. "It's a _check-in_ , and we're both fine with it. Dad, right now you're too far away to kick my ass, so may I have your permission to speak candidly?"

Vegeta raised his eyebrow. "Go ahead."

"Just do what mom asked, please? Threaten me all you want, but mom cared for me _just fine_ before I reached Bulla's age, without much emotional support from you at first. Maybe you should chill out. I'm not sure what's going on with you, but whatever it is, just deal with it. I have to go now. Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Love and hate you passionately, dad."

Crossing his arms behind his back, Vegeta walked to the center of the ship. "Despise and adore you too, son."

He would wait a few more days before contacting his wife.

* * *

 **DAY 2**

"Mommy, I'm hot."

"Here, take another Tylenol, sweetie. I have more soup, too. Oh, you're sneezing again. Take these tissues."

 **DAY 3**

"Can I have a Popsicle, mommy? My throat hurts."

"Sure, honey.

 **DAY 4**

"Do you know the story about the Saiyan princess that daddy tells?"

"I'll try to remember it, baby."

"Have you heard from daddy?"

"Not yet, Bulla. He'll contact us in a few more days, I'm sure."

Bulma shuttled between home and the office without sleeping much that week. Her daughter's cold had graduated to the hacking cough and inconsolable achiness stage. The cleaners kept the house neat, and her projects were getting done, but the master bedroom left much to be desired. Bulla wanted to sleep there during the day, which Bulma allowed, but only in a separate bed. Her normally immaculate working clothes were scattered messily, too. She knew she flirted with danger after burning the candle at both ends, but so far so good. By day four, neither she nor Nick showed any signs of illness. Even if she became sick, come hell or high water she would run the board meeting the following week - wearing a surgical mask.

Nick screened all of her calls at the office and remotely, and she wouldn't take many. But one did get through.

"Bulma! I haven't heard from you in a while. You're still breathing."

The interruption annoyed her. Bulma wondered why Nick let this particular call through, and why didn't Goku's wife just contact her on the regular home-video phone? Nick knew she was busy reviewing next-generation design prototypes of automobiles. She didn't have time to gossip, especially today.

"Hi, Chi Chi."

"So, uh, how are things?"

"Well, dear, I've had my hands full lately," Bulma replied, doodling on a notepad. "I have a big meeting coming up next week."

"Yes, yes. I heard. I also heard our girl is sick."

Bulma's head dropped on her desk, in front of the speakerphone. "Yes, she's been sick for a week now, and it might stick around a few more days."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Chi-Chi asked. "I could have helped since you're working so much. Nick told me you refused to keep Bulla at the office infirmary or get a nanny."

 _Oh, did he now? Has he lost his mind?_ Fuming, Bulma paged his video screen while Chi-Chi continued. He ignored her angry glare, infuriating her even more.

"You know why, Chi-Chi. I don't want this virus to infect your granddaughter, or you either. It's a bad one, and I'm hoping Bulla won't catch a similar one soon after. Trunks never caught a virus like this as a toddler, not once. Your sons didn't either. I thought for sure -"

Nick held a notepad in front of his screen. It said, in bold letters, "Let her help, for heaven's sake!" Bulma grabbed her notepad and scrawled "No!"

"Bulma, I am happy to stay with the baby until your big meeting preparations are done," Chi-Chi said. "My entire family is away this month, too, except for Goku, who's barely home as it is. Bulla is comfortable with me. I can even stay a few nights so you can get some sleep."

After reducing the volume onscreen, Nick mouthed to Bulma, "You look like the walking dead. Stop feeling guilty."

Bulma shook her fist at him. "All right, Chi-Chi. Thank you for offering help. When can you come?"

"I'll be there in two hours."

Bulma went straight to bed after Chi-Chi's arrival. It was 7 p.m., and he planned to get up before midnight to work but instead woke up the next day.

It was 10 a.m.

 _Damn it! Why didn't she wake me?_ _Why hasn't Nick called?_ Bulma pinched the bridge of her nose. _Okay, calm down._ She walked downstairs, finding her smiling daughter snuggled between Chi-Chi's arms on the sofa. The woman didn't appeared alarmed by her friend's visible crankiness.

"Nick said it would be a good idea for you to sleep longer."

Bulma yawned, trying to gather hair strewn over her face into a manageable bun. "Yeah."

"Oh, don't be like that," Chi-Chi said softly. "You know you needed it." They both looked down at Bulla, who started coughing again.

Bulma sat next to them, tugging on Bulla's pajamas. "How are you feeling, kid? We might need to get you something else for that bad cough."

Bulla sniffled, blinking her eyes. Their coloring now matched the light-pink hue of her nose. "I'm okay. Auntie Chi-Chi has been really nice to me. Did you sleep fine?"

"She has been very nice, indeed - and, yes, I slept well." Bulma's fingers ran through her unruly hair while she stood up. "Thanks for asking. I'll go shower now since you're in the middle of a story. I'll see you before leaving for the office."

She made a quick stop in the kitchen for Tylenol and coffee to ward off an oncoming headache. Her body felt somewhat sore, as well. She prepared a plate of scrambled eggs and toast Chi-Chi made earlier, further attempting to shake-off her malaise.

 _I'll feel better after eating. Everything will be fine._ _One week down, and three more go before we're all together again._

She smiled, optimistically, admiring a family photo on the refrigerator door.

* * *

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	3. Clear-headed?

Bulma brushed her hair in front of a mirror above her desk, peppering her everlastingly patient assistant with questions by speakerphone. Vegeta hated it when she conducted official business from their bedroom, calling it their "sacred space," which never failed to cause his wife to giggle uncontrollably.

By this time she had traded in coffee for herbal tea to soothe her scratchy throat. Her meeting planner laid askew on the desk, marked with multicolored pieces of paper to guide her presentation. She cleared her throat a few times to increase the volume of her voice.

"Nick, have all additional reading materials been sent to board members?"

"The staff prepared them and they were delivered this past Monday, Bulma. I thought I told you this."

"Yeah, yeah." She took another sip of tea. "Sorry. I forgot."

"You forgot?" Nick clicked his tongue, signaling a bigger problem on the horizon. "Hold up. You never forget _anything_ about mundane paperwork, boss."

Bulma rubbed her temples again. "First you tell me I'm exhausted, and now you're using it against me, you ungrateful traitor." Her headache didn't respond to the Tylenol as fast as she expected. She considered relieving stress with a gym workout. She had neglected her routine long enough. Then, maybe she would have the stamina to work through the weekend, especially with Chi-Chi's generous offer to remain at the estate.

Nick tapped his pen on his speaker to regain her attention. "Now then, do you plan to thank me for my excellent idea about having Chi-Chi help?"

"No."

"Splendid! So everything is working out, leading to my next question. Before you do any more work today, perhaps you should contact Vegeta. It's been a week."

"No."

"You'll be less grumpy, Bulma."

She picked up a tissue to wipe her increasingly runny nose. "I highly doubt that. Let's continue discussions about _work,_ instead of my personal life, when I'm at the office. I want to get some exercise in before I arrive, too. I'm just trying to shake off a headache. Also, you've done a great job prepping the administrative staff the last three weeks. Take the rest of the day off when I get there. Expect me in around 1:30."

"We'll still have to run through your slide show in the meeting room," Nick replied. "I can leave after that."

Bulma continued scribbling notes in her planner. "Tell you what, I'll practice with your interns. They're not afraid to say if I'm doing a terrible job. I'm working through this weekend anyway. If you're itching to join me for a few hours, by all means do, but otherwise it's all good. The meeting is Tuesday."

"Yes, I know the meeting is Tuesday because _I planned the date_ a year ago," Nick said with subdued frustration, "and after today, you're prepared to run the event appropriately. Take a break. You have nothing to prove."

Bulma closed her eyes, realizing the futility of locking horns with him about her choices. "Bye."

It didn't help that a powerful wave of fatigue assaulted her body again, so much that her exercise plans were quickly becoming an afterthought.

 _Vegeta would work through the fatigue anyway. I should take a page out of my husband's book. If he were here, he'd probably make me exercise._ She touched her wedding ring, smiling. _I guess he can be useful for something sometimes._

Battling her fatigue won. She returned to bed, pulling the comforter over her shoulders. Two-hours later, she had a sore throat and couldn't stop sneezing. The headache felt worse, and all she wanted was to bury herself further into the mattress.

 _Oh, this is just wonderful. That's what I get for dancing with the devil._ After another thirty minutes she rolled out of bed to contact the office again.

"Go home now, Nick, and take the interns with you. I'm getting sick, and I don't want to infect anyone when I'm there. Do whatever you can to stay well."

"Bulma…"

"That's an order."

"Understood, but…"

Bulma buried her face into her palms. "See… see you on Monday."

Chi-Chi knocked on the bedroom door. "Hey there, is everything okay? I thought you were leaving earlier. It's past 2 p.m. Are you hungry?"

Bulma opened the door, holding tissues over her mouth. "Thanks, dear. Actually, I'm not feeling well, so I'll just have some broth now. I think I finally caught what Bulla has. I'll rest a few more hours and then head to the main office. I sent Nick home already. Do you mind sticking around for another day?"

Frowning, Chi-Chi sighed. "I will stay if _you_ remain in bed. You know better than anyone that pushing yourself on top of being sick could make the situation worse. I don't care if it's a cold. Vegeta would have none of this nonsense from you."

Bulma sat on the side of her bed. "Chi-Chi, I wish _everyone_ in my life stopped acting like my husband calls all the shots around here now. When did that happen? You've known me forever. I have always been independent, and neither of my kids have been neglected when Vegeta can't be around - or in the earliest days for Trunks, wasn't. I'm still my own person."

Considering the ups and downs of her own marriage to Goku, Chi-Chi wanted to offer a balanced response.

"But Vegeta is around - more than ever - and trying his damnedest to keep it that way. You just had a baby that you wanted _together_. Don't take for granted how far you've come. No one's questioning your personhood. Do you really think that ill-tempered, arrogant little space pirate could be charmed by someone other than you?"

"Probably not." Bulma smiled feebly as Chi-Chi pulled the sheets across the bed for her to lie down. "Oh, gods! I can't _believe_ this is happening."

"I'll bring some broth up and tell Bulla you're ill," Chi-Chi replied warmly. "I can reassure her, but you must stay here and not mention work. I know you have things to do, but those will fall into place."

Bulma nodded. "Thank you."

Shortly thereafter, a notification light flickered on the wall, capturing the women's immediate attention. Chi-Chi patted Bulma's hand before departing. Guessing the caller's identity, she thanked the heavens above for small blessings.

"Dr. Brief, Prince Vegeta is attempting to contact you," the mechanized voice announced. "Do you want him onscreen?"

"Oh, great," Bulma grumbled. She sipped more tea to strengthen her voice. "My luck is worse than a gazelle in a lion's den. Put the prince on speaker only."

"I take it that you're hiding something since you didn't open visual communication with me," Vegeta said. "You have two minutes to get to the point."

Bulma stuck out her tongue. At least he couldn't see her bratty response. "The bedroom is a mess. I would prefer not arguing with you about that now."

"That's fair, I suppose. Now cut the bullshit."

Bulma muted the speaker so he wouldn't hear her sneezing. Each one felt like a tiny hammer on her temples.

"Are you still there, Bulma?"

"I'm still here."

"Your voice sounds odd."

"Please stop." Bulma pinched her nose to relieve her mental fog. "I'm fine. It's been a long week and Bulla has been down with a cold."

Vegeta paused. "The baby's sick? How bad is it?"

"It's been rough, but she's on the road to recovery."

"Are you sure? Trunks never-"

"Yes, I know," Bulma interrupted. "Our personal doctor is monitoring closely. He says some kind of genetic issue could've made her more prone than Trunks to getting a virus like this. She's still part human, and some colds are just worse than others."

"That doesn't make me feel better, Bulma."

"Honey, the doctor says her immune system is fighting the virus appropriately. We'll deal with the other part of your concerns later if you don't mind. Chi-Chi is here helping me at home while I prepare for the meeting next week."

"Kakarot's wife?"

"There's only one, Vegeta."

"You're sick too, aren't you?"

Sensing her husband's growing concern, Bulma knew she had to respond evenly. Nick once called it her "business-as-usual defensive strategy."

"All of this started with me today, so I'm resting now. Chi-Chi is forcing me to."

"And?"

"And what?"

Vegeta exhaled, trying to maintain his patience. "Are you ready for your meeting?"

Bulma muted the speaker again as another sneezing fit commenced. Vegeta's interrogation wore on her. Time to wrap-up this conversation.

"I'm prepared. My staff did a fantastic job handling the details. I'll get the rest I need before Tuesday."

"See to it that you do," Vegeta said. His tone carried enough warning to make the point crystal clear. "I would like to speak with and _see_ our daughter our now."

"I'll ask Chi-Chi to bring Bulla to the home office downstairs and transfer your signal there. I'll be in touch later."

"Same," Vegeta replied.

* * *

Chi-Chi didn't follow through with her threats to leave that weekend despite Bulma's decision to work through it. The determined scientist didn't neglect seeing her daughter for short periods, but there was only so much exposure she wanted to have, given her own condition. Nick, to his credit, said as little as possible to avoid aggravating the situation, which was hard to do. He simply provided as many tools as he could to relieve his stubborn boss while she coughed and sniffled through the Monday preceding the meeting. She collapsed into bed later that evening, finally content with her readiness - however delusional that belief was.

The next morning Bulma showered much longer than she normally would have, but every inch of her body ached and the hot water offered welcome relief. She hadn't taken as much cold medicine the night before to avoid the customary drug-hangover that would've left her less clear-headed. Coughing fits that kept her from sleeping restfully were the miserable trade-offs. Looking defeated, she sat in front of the mirror to determine how much makeup would be necessary to conceal her reddened nose and dark eye circles.

"I just need to get through this day," she mumbled after staggering from the bathroom in her robe. "My husband would -"

"Your _husband_ would probably be yelled at by his angry wife for _unwisely_ risking his health and welfare for a situation that doesn't deserve outrageous effort." Vegeta stood with his wife's pajamas in hand. "Put these on and return to bed."

Coughing and blowing her nose, Bulma managed to offer a partial smile. "You know better than to stand in my way," she said, mustering strength to argue. "When did you arrive?"

"Does it really matter?" Vegeta laid the clothes a chair to finish changing their bed sheets. "You're being ridiculous, Bulma. I can feel your weakness, and that cough is dreadful. Not only are you exhausted, this illness seems to be attacking your body much harder, and it hasn't been _that_ long. How can you expect to manage an intense four-hour meeting in your condition?"

Bulma sat down. "It's just a really bad cold."

"And until now you've rarely been sick," Vegeta retorted. "Seeing this now tells me this will get worse if you don't stop. I postponed the board meeting. Nick is rescheduling for next month, which he was delighted to do after we spoke."

" _You what?!_ " Bulma felt blood rushing to her face. "These people are paid to participate in these meetings. You know that. What about the ones who traveled here?"

Vegeta felt his wife's forehead. _She shouldn't have a fever with something like this, but it appears that she does_. "There are only five board members, and their pay and expenses will be handled appropriately - and we can table this argument? Put the damned pajamas on woman… please."

"Fine." Bulma crawled back into bed while Vegeta handed her water and spoon of cold medicine. Although he was focused on her, his dark eyes appeared distant.

"To answer your earlier question, Bulma, I didn't get that far into space before deciding to return. I arrived late last night and sent Chi-Chi home just now. Our daughter is napping in her room."

Bulma reclined on her pillows. "Thanks for the water. So other than my ridiculousness, what else brought you home?"

Vegeta stared at the window over their bed. "We separated this month without talking in the way we should have before deciding to spend more time apart. Trunks said something when we spoke this week."

Bulma groaned. "Oh, lord. What did he do now?"

"Stop interrupting," Vegeta said quietly, handing her a tissue box. "This is hard enough as it is. I need you to hear me."

Bulma touched the bed for him to sit. "I am all ears."

He sighed. "I'm sorry… for not trusting you."

Baffled, she moved closer. "Vegeta, what are you talking about?"

"You are the most headstrong, determined, and fascinating woman I have ever known." He paused, taking her hands in his. "I love you for that, almost to the point of weakness - pain even. It's not weakness of spirit, but of feeling unworthy of you."

"You don't have to do this," Bulma said, shaking her head. "We've walked this path. Let it rest. Let it rest."

Bulma wasn't keen on treading old emotional ground. Instead, she hoped their talk would focus on her husband's future concerns, which she thought were troubling him more. Although she expected it to be short-lived, her being sick wasn't helping his angst either, evidently.

"The first years of Trunks' life you cared for him without emotional help from me," Vegeta continued. "Watching you raise our son, virtually alone and largely not giving a damn whether I contributed, forced me to re-evaluate my conscience. You weren't being a martyr or trying to force my recognition of you - and by the time the fighters' battle with Cell and the androids ended, you harbored no anger toward me. You were remarkable, and I had no choice."

"No choice?"

"Your principled resolve shamed me, Bulma. I had no choice but offer much as _physical support_ as I could to you and our son. Later, I had no choice but to admit, eventually, how much I loved you, and accept how much I _needed_ you."

"And you have us now, Vegeta."

"The point is even when we argued bitterly about my habits and ambitions, and how they affected our lives together, you've let me be me. You and our kids could easily do well without me, as it should be. And for that reason, my recent behavior has shown an _inordinate_ amount of neediness. That hasn't been fair to you."

Upset, Bulma started coughing. Vegeta, who sensed her ki spike erratically, held on to her back until the paroxysm ended. Her eyes reflected fury and worry.

"Vegeta, 'do well without' is a regrettable choice of words," she said as he poured more water. "If what you're trying to say is the kids and I don't need you because we have each other, that's self-pitying - and I feel hurt. Hearing this where we conceived our beautiful girl out of love, well, I… I just don't know what to think."

Her husband let go of her hand, looking down. "You need your rest. I'll check on Echalotte."

"Oh no, buddy." Bulma gripped his arm. "You started this, and we're a team, so let's finish." She took a tissue, wiping tears. "I'm sorry you feel this way, and if I did anything to contribute, then I apologize. Do you have more to say, because I want to listen, or are you ready to hear my end?"

Vegeta returned to the bedside. "I'm ready."

"Vegeta, to be fair, I do reflect on the person I was then versus the woman I am now. Sometimes I'm insecure about what my 'independence' means as a wife, mother, and an accomplished scientist. Regardless, I have made sacrifices and taken chances with you because I wanted to - and had one hell of an exciting time doing it. Neither you nor the kids burden me. I suggested being apart this month so we could both reconnect with the core of who we are, as individuals, but I wouldn't trade what we have now for anything. It's been an eye-opening maturation for us, and many changes we made together have been good. But since you left, after Bulla got sick, I have been reminded that rethinking my so-called independence isn't a zero-sum game."

"I don't understand," Vegeta said. "What do you mean by zero-sum game?"

"Honey, I exhausted myself this week to prove that I could be a superwoman, as you and everyone else have said. Granted, I'm wealthy and have enough people and tools to do stuff for me, but in this case I felt self-conscious about handing off my responsibilities so easily with Bulla, which was my mistake. What you got wrong about me before we married was _I did_ lean more on others for emotional support - you know, on my family and friends. My life worked because I didn't set expectations for being 'super.' And, if you recall, your outlook changed once you allowed yourself to trust and rely on others, and by no means was it perfect."

"Stop there." Vegeta covered her lips. "You just _couldn't_ resist taunting me with that last comment."

"Nope," Bulma replied, smiling.

Vegeta's hand rested on her head. Bulma recalled doing the same when she gave birth to Bulla. The awe and happiness on his face when he first held their baby almost brought his wife to tears. Later, Bulma saw him quietly weeping when he thought she was asleep. He never told her. There was joy and pain in the proud man's tears. She couldn't have loved him more than at that moment.

Vegeta pulled the comforter over her. "Rest. The medicine is making you sleepy. Took long enough."

"You're more worried than you should be, prince whatever your name is," Bulma said, slowly closing her eyes. "I don't need to read ki."

Vegeta dimmed the lights. "You're right. You don't."

* * *

 **Notes:** I want to make it clear that Vegeta feels ashamed by what he describes as "neediness." He believes he has encroached on Bulma's independence, causing her to doubt herself. Other issues are Bulma's wealth and how she feels judged. Not only is she brilliant, but she's spent years trying to prove her achievements are hers alone. Her portrayal is an alternative to always seeing Vegeta depicted as the one with something to prove. Please take a moment to leave a comment if you can. Thanks!


	4. Art Therapy

As Vegeta predicted, Bulma was laid up sick at home much longer, having caught back-to-back illnesses, with the second one being worse than than the first. When she had the energy to move at all, the haggard, bathrobe-clad woman crept sloth-like between the bedroom and the family room. Vegeta didn't interfere much with her attempts to work in spurts from their home office, or from other comfortable spots where she burrowed with documents and her emerald-colored laptop. She wouldn't be crawling under heavy machinery soon, he figured, so he wisely decided that a lighter touch would keep her in good spirits and speed her recovery. Everything had to be done in moderation, though. He did impose those rules, which she followed dutifully.

"How is she, sir - really?"

"As long as you continue following my instructions, she'll be fine," Vegeta told Nick. "The last thing my wife needs is some high-strung, pencil-chewing engineer pestering her about a project that won't be completed until we're both dead and buried. So far your choice of callers here has been wise."

Nick tried to stifle an annoyed groan. "With all due respect, Vegeta, can we avoid all references to death today? It's hard enough keeping the overly ambitious work jackals at bay, considering that Dr. Brief's empty office has gathered enough dust to qualify as a sand dune."

"And Bulma pays you enough to deal with those problems, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Also, if there are jackals to manage, don't hesitate to send them to me." Vegeta's eyes shined with fearsome malevolence over that thought. "There are smarter and stronger predators in the food chain that find their flesh quite tasty."

Nick secretly liked it when Vegeta articulated feral protectiveness over Bulma, but this comment made his blood run cold. "Uh, I'll keep that in mind, sir. Thanks for your time."

Vegeta also kept Bulla busy between his regular training sessions, even making a game of his desire to read the newspaper. When he wasn't there, the girl would be drawing on large pieces of paper attached to the walls in the family room, where her mother could see her, or reading or playing games nearby. Chi-Chi returned to spend time there, too, relieving both parents, who were reluctant to get hired help until they agreed on other matters about their daughter.

Bulla's developmental and verbal skills were advanced for a child of her age, surprising no one, so her parents exercised creativity to keep her curious and enthusiastic about learning. Dad closely observed her spatial abilities through construction work, teaching her how to design a proper "indoor fort" with chairs and other playroom materials. "Plastic chairs aren't designed properly to provide sturdy gravitational support for the fort's foundation," he said. Temperature-regulating blankets decorated with pink and blue floral prints covered the outside. Throughout their project, Vegeta explained the importance of creating living spaces with ecology and sustainability in mind - and using locally produced building materials. Chi-Chi chuckled to herself, knowing that Vegeta could've easily had Bulla visit her modest mountain home to learn about "roughing it" in the woods, minus pedantic lessons about architecture and the biosphere.

"Now you know how to build a shelter," he told Bulla with a troublemaker's delight in his eyes. "When he returns, Trunks will teach you about the appropriate tools for survival in the wilderness. If you don't make him work hard, I will." Bulla clapped with excitement. The girl would probably build a functional spaceship in two years if she wanted, which Vegeta and Bulma joked about, but his primary goal was togetherness.

Bulla could have returned to nursery much earlier, but her parents waited because she had been clingier after Vegeta's return from space. This behavior couldn't continue, but the couple were at odds over what to do. They would eventually home school her for a while, but at this age she needed more socialization, which Bulma insisted on. But now, she and Vegeta's opinions had reversed after their daughter's behavior changed.

Fresh from an invigorating shower, Vegeta cocked his head from amusement and pity from his wife's disheveled appearance. Bulma was napping on the sofa, covered with a mound of papers. Some were falling off of her blanket-wrapped legs, along with several colored pens and highlighters. The trash can next to her overflowed with used tissues. He gently removed her reading glasses and tried to clean up some of the mess.

"Don't move my stuff," she said, touching his arm unsteadily. Her speech slurred from grogginess. "I… I need those."

Vegeta gazed with astonishment at his sickly, argumentative wife. "Half of _your stuff_ is on the floor."

"Don't argue with me, Vegeta."

" _Hn._ You started it, woman."

She moved over on the sofa for him to sit. "You're being childish. Did you forget my condition? You should be burning candles and incense in supplicatory prayer to restore my fragile health."

Vegeta snorted. This would be fun. "And you're being annoying and whiny. It's not appealing, especially since you haven't changed once this week out of that moth-eaten, threadbare bathrobe. You're really close to exhausting your spousal sympathy limit with me."

Bulma laid her hand across her forehead, further exaggerating her offense from his scolding. "Husband, _must I remind_ _you_ of my selflessness nursing you back to health, all those years ago, after your reckless training regimen destroyed my dad's gravity machine?"

"We weren't married then, and I disliked you and that gruesome toy-poodle hairstyle you wore back then." Vegeta tapped her nose with his fingertip. "That period doesn't count."

Bulma giggled. "I hate you. Go die in a fire."

The prince smirked, handing her glasses back. "We need to discuss Bulla. Let's not delay this anymore."

"She just needs more time, Vegeta. How many times are we going over this subject?"

Vegeta stood to examine Bulla's multicolored wallpaper canvas. "No, she doesn't need more time. Just imagine how she'll respond if we have a real knockdown drag-someone-on-the-floor argument. This must be addressed now. Trunks has a protective shell of hard-earned scar tissue from seeing our relationship over time."

"And that's what you want for _your_ _little_ _princess_?" Bulma said incredulously. "Scar tissue? I feel like I'm speaking with a different person."

"Hell yes, Bulma, I do want that for her, but definitely not in the same way Trunks developed it. We're bullheaded and we bicker… and we love each other deeply. Bulla became insecure at the mere thought that we were separating - maybe thinking that it was her fault - and we hadn't even argued! Then there's the mental landmine of _me_ and life-and-death situations. I want us to provide _realistic_ reassurance for her."

"I think I understand what you're saying." Bulma nodded with a degree of uncertainty. After all, though her husband had a gargantuan soft spot for Bulla, he was still Vegeta. He was the apotheosis of the "extreme sports," bungee-jumping, adrenaline-addicted parent. His wife could see his kind of "realism" applied in a few years - and would likely support it - but now? _God help them._

Vegeta turned to observe Bulma as she muffled her hacking cough in a handkerchief. "I'll be so glad when this pestilence is done attacking your body. I said those office portraits were bad luck, but you didn't listen."

"Not as happy as I'll be," Bulma replied, "and I am deciding whether to get new artwork. You just want me to recover faster to get me back into bed. I know you have an itch to scratch."

" _Tch._ So I'm the only one with sex on the brain, woman? _Right._ You're no innocent flower here. Had I remained in space longer, once my ship reached Earth you would've pounced on me in the nude, possibly carrying sparkling handcuffs."

Bulma bit the tip of her red ink pen. "Of course I would have," she purred seductively. Vegeta felt a spark of carnal excitement surge through him. Even while sick, that magnificent blue-eyed woman could still play the coquette with style.

"While I would love to continue our banter, it's now 4 p.m. and you have medicine to take. Go finish your nap and we'll all dine together later."

"What about Bulla?"

Vegeta picked up a few crayons and scrawled designs on the wallpaper. "Leave her to me."

Bulma was fast asleep when Vegeta spotted their daughter peering into their bedroom. He walked up and unfastened a tidy, ribbon-tied cluster of lavender curls on the crown of her head. She looked adorable when she giggled, which is why he did it.

The child stood with arms akimbo, squinting at him. "Daddy! What did you do that for?"

" _Shhh._ " He bent down to scoop her into his arms. It felt surreal to him how much she resembled Bulma. "You'll wake your mother. Why are you peeking into our bedroom anyway?"

"I wanted to see if mommy and I could finish the movie she picked for us about quantum physics. She's done working, right?"

Vegeta tried not to appear pleasantly surprised. _Quantum physics? Bulma told me those basic concepts would be better explained around age seven._ _Oh well._

"Well, kind of, but Bulma is still not feeling great either," he replied. "She needs her rest, and we both really want her to get better, don't we? Let's try this. We'll head back to the family room. You can tell me about your wallpaper drawings. I want to draw with you too, if I have your permission."

"Yay!" Bulla squealed, embracing his neck. Vegeta grunted at her steely grip. The warrior in him immediately felt giddy. His baby girl could already put him into a wrestler's chokehold. Her form was pretty good, too. The fighting moves he could teach her were endless!

"I guess that's a yes then, Echalotte," he gasped.

Bulla ran into the room grabbing crayons and colored pencils and stickers. Then she put on a small painter's apron as if she were working on the world's next great masterpiece.

"What are you planning to draw this time?" Vegeta asked. "You look very serious."

Bulla shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. What about you, daddy?"

"My guess is as good as yours."

He chose blue, brown, and silver colored pencils for himself, along with a charcoal pencil for basic sketching. Bulla carried a rainbow of coloring tools in her apron.

Vegeta penciled a meticulous series of three-dimensional cubes and blocks on a separate piece of wallpaper, allowing Bulla to continue coloring on her own paper. This time the child drew in the center of the page, rather than sitting on the floor or standing on either side to sketch along the edges. That change in her physical positioning intrigued her father, and he had a theory behind it. Bulla had felt more secure since she and her parents had been home together so closely.

Vegeta stepped back to observe his emerging artwork, placing his right finger on his chin and squeezing the pencils in his left. Not wanting to be outdone, Bulla imitated his movements, except for her father's left-handedness. All of this gave him a chance to further examine her expressions and scribbling.

"So how's it going?"

"Okay, I guess."

"I see." Vegeta returned to his work. "You aren't very chatty today."

Bulla looked over at him. "Daddy, you don't talk to a lot of people either."

"Well I'm talking with you now, child, but we can be quiet while we draw. I'm fine with that too."

"No, that's okay." Bulla twirled her crayons in her hands. "Why don't you talk a lot when you're around other people anyway?"

"I believe some people should think more and say less," Vegeta replied. "There's nothing wrong with talking, and I do chat with others when I'm comfortable, but sometimes saying too much without a lot of thought behind one's words can cause trouble."

"Like what?"

"There's a time and a place for everything, Bulla. Endless talking takes away from observing and appreciating the world around you - and from protecting yourself. Besides, I find my family far cooler to talk with than most anyone else. I always learn new things from you."

"But mommy and Trunks talk a lot about stuff you don't care about."

 _That's the understatement of the year,_ Vegeta thought. He resisted the strong urge to grin at the truism.

"Yeah, they do, but that's okay for them. Think of it like this: yYour daddy draws energy and strength from being alone sometimes, and that includes being away from you guys occasionally. Having that time alone helps me help you, and others, when you need it."

"Is that why mommy sent you away?"

"I wouldn't necessarily say she sent me away. We agreed to it. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know."

"You asked the question, Bulla. Think harder."

"I guess I thought at first that mommy was really mad or sad about something. You didn't yell at each other or anything, but you didn't seem like you wanted to go away either, daddy."

"So is that why you didn't tell Bulma at first that you weren't feeling well, while I was gone?"

"Maybe. I just wanted to be strong so she wouldn't worry. She had stuff to do."

"Ah, I see now." Vegeta bent down on his knees. "Listen to me. Your mother and I have been together for years, and we're likely the strangest married people you'll ever know in life. We also love you and your brother very much. Our worries are own, not yours. It is our job as your parents to protect and help you. No matter what happens between us in life, good or bad, we agree on that."

"Do you think something bad will happen?"

"Bad things happen all the time, child. No one mortal has total control over that, but as I said, you can and _must_ come to us when you need help. That's what we're here for. Understand?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Anything else?"

Bulla looked at her sketches on the bottom of the wallpaper. "What makes you sad?"

Vegeta sighed. He expected this question from her, even though he wanted to avoid it. "At one time in my life I carried a lot of anger inside that deeply hurt me and others. That not the case anymore, mostly, although I have memories that make me sad about it. Much of my strength now comes from using that anger in the right way and understanding it. There's some good that comes from anger, despite what others might tell you. I can't really explain the rest now, but I promise that we'll talk more about it when you're older. Now tell me what makes you sad."

"Can I think about it some more? I want to finish drawing."

"Of course, Echalotte. Take all the time you need."

"Thank you, daddy."

In a way Vegeta thought his geometric sketching of Earth, complete with its cerulean hues and shading, defined his movement across a fluid continuum of the past, present, and _having_ a future. The Saiyan prince's definition of the future changed radically, personified by the loving and protective presence of family. Bulla's current sketch simply showed the four of them seated for dinner. Their pictures were well-matched.

Satisfied, Vegeta headed upstairs to check on his wife. She yawned and stretched as he lay down next to her.

"I was just preparing to get up, Vegeta."

"I know." He put his arm around her, welcoming her snuggle into his embrace. "Let's stay here a few more minutes."

Bulma's face twitched. "I thought you… you wanted me to dispose of my 'threadbare' clothing before…." Vegeta quickly grabbed a bundle of tissues and to cover her nose and mouth before she sneezed. His wife laughed hysterically through it all.

"Just be quiet for a minute, will you?" he said, snickering. "I just spent an hour and a half doing what I guess your ridiculous humans all 'art therapy' with our daughter. I need to reset my brain cells. I wasn't born for this. Why didn't you warn me, woman?"

"How is she, honey?"

Vegeta dwelled on that question longer. Knowing her husband well, Bulma waited patiently for a thoughtful response.

"She has a wise and powerful spirit, Bulma. Once she figures it out for herself, nothing will stand in her way."

"I know. She's her father's daughter."


	5. Epilogue

Vegeta decided to climb to the roof this time to stargaze. Stars illuminated gauzy, luminous nebulae, providing generous evening entertainment. Saiyan eyesight granted more sharpness, unlike human vision, but even he needed an appropriate telescope to revel in the iridescent blue-violet and crimson hues. He never tired of watching them.

"Do you miss it, daddy?"

Vegeta handed his daughter their massive bowl of buttered popcorn, mulling an answer. His prolonged silence didn't disturb her. They treasured these moments together. Bulla probably would become sleepy first, though, so he wouldn't take too long responding.

"It's hard to miss much about space travel considering my history, princess, if that's what you're asking. I have been a duty-bound traveler since childhood, driven by others' passions alongside my own. Therefore, I'm content staying put for a while. Reaching the final destination - here, with your mother - has rewarded me many times over."

Vegeta's answer offered an interesting bone for Bulla to chase after. He hadn't intended that, but much like their mother, his children enjoyed puzzles. In their minds simple answers didn't exist, simply.

"So let's say some bug-eyed, thirteen-legged creature from a previously unknown universe arrived here seeking an exhibition fight with you. A bonus is it doesn't want to kill you or anyone else. Would you agree to battle?"

"I dislike this hypothetical," Vegeta grunted. "Just because something declares its desire not to kill you doesn't mean it can't, won't, or shouldn't. Doesn't matter if it's lying or being truthful either. Number of legs is irrelevant, as well."

"You're not answering the question," Bulla said, gently punching his shoulder. "It's one giant riddle."

"I told you what I thought," Vegeta replied as he swiftly undid Bulla's neat mound of spiral locks. "How you judge my answer's merit is your business, not mine."

Bulla laughed, taking the hand telescope from him. "You always go after my hair! What did it do to deserve such disrespect?"

"You could have stopped him from doing that long ago," Bulma said, poking her head through an entryway. "If your Saiyan reflexes are that feeble as an adult, then you have my permission to blame him indefinitely for poor instruction."

Vegeta eyed the special women in his life with love and admiration - and then proceeded to ignore the hell out of them.

"Daddy?"

"What?"

"You're not going to respond?"

"Don't stay up here all night, either of you." Vegeta stood, helping his wife take his place. "I'm not sorry I messed up your hair either, brat."

His hand briefly touched the crown of Bulla's head as he kissed Bulma's temple. His wife patted his chest as he strolled off.

"Don't wait up, handsome."

"Yeah, yeah."

Smiling excitedly, Bulma cuddled next to her daughter after Vegeta left. "He didn't flinch when I called you an adult this time! Did you notice?"

"That means _nothing_ ," Bulla replied, "and you know it, mom. I see no evidence that being eighteen is anywhere near daddy's ideal of adulthood for me. Maybe when I'm your age, mom. He might agree then."

"Let's hope for your own sanity that you _don't care_ by then, because he'll likely be dead anyway," Bulma said sweetly. "Me too."

Bulla extended the telescope, observing another cluster of stars. "I highly doubt that, but I do know you both prepared me well for the time when you're not around anymore."

"We know."

"Victory."

"Victory."

They threw popcorn at each other.

* * *

 **Notes: The door was closed on this story for a while, but this ending short came to mind while I revised chapters for cross-posting on Archive of Our Own. Portraying this family's thoughtful, unvarnished honesty with each other has been enjoyable. I couldn't resist adding a glimpse of their future based on events from the previous chapter. As always, thanks for your support.  
**


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